


this is the road and we are on it

by ceridite



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life, Survivor Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceridite/pseuds/ceridite
Summary: There's a crack in the ceiling. Mondo forgets something important.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo, Oowada Mondo & Oowada Daiya, Oowada Mondo & Soda Kazuichi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	this is the road and we are on it

There’s a crack in the ceiling.

It’s barely noticeable. To be honest, Mondo reckons it would only take one swipe of paint to cover it up completely. They still have some of that emulsion shit in the back room from when they redid the walls, so he wouldn’t even have to leave the apartment – Taka might be pissed if he doesn’t put plastic over the bed sheets to protect them first, but...

Somehow, that doesn’t feel right either. The crack would still be there. Eventually the paint would shrink back and it would show itself again but deeper, a big, ugly tear that will end up chipping white flecks all over them while they’re sleeping.

It’s kind of inevitable.

Mondo’s going to be late for work.

He rolls out of bed and heads to their kitchen, rubbing the gross, crusted sleep from his eyes and feeling grateful for the boyfriend who insists on making breakfast the night before, every night. All he really has to do is chuck some milk into a pre-made bowl and microwave it for a bit before he’s shovelling porridge into his mouth and wandering around the living room, scooping up his kit and his greasy coveralls and his boots while the thought’s still in his head to do so.

There’s time for a quick shower. The window’s blowing cold air in, still slightly-open from when Taka must’ve been in there earlier. Mondo eyes himself in a mirror that’s been meticulously wiped of condensation – tangled, loose hair, smudged eyeliner from the day before, a little engine oil gone unnoticed by his ear – and feels an unknown heaviness settle into his bones.

It’s been creeping in, slowly but surely, since the beginning of this week, and he can’t put his finger on why. He hasn’t told anyone because he hates how tired it makes him feel – how useless.

Going in today suddenly feels like a Herculean task. Wouldn’t it be easier to just call in sick and go back to bed? Kazuichi’s missed enough shifts for flimsy, bullshit reasoning that he’d have no right to complain about it if he stayed home, and he thinks the jobs scheduled are so minor that the extra hands would probably be more of a hindrance than a help. He finishes earlier than Taka, anyway. Nobody would know.

Mondo showers, brushes his teeth and grabs his keys because he’s supposed to be better by now, and that ain’t a fuckin’ excuse.

* * *

Kaz is flat on his back under a beat-up old station wagon when he trudges in to the workshop. He pushes himself halfway out and narrows his eyes, neon-pink hair spilling haphazardly over the concrete floor.

“You look awful,” the mechanic says flatly.

Mondo doesn’t feel embarrassed by that because he already knows. He focuses on zipping up his coveralls over his tank top and sweatpants and idly flicks through whatever’s on the itinerary for today.

“Not gonna grace me with a response, your highness? Jeez, I always forget you go all strong and silent sometimes. You were so shouty back in school,”

Mondo rolls his eyes. “D’ya want me to shout?”

“Nope, nope, forget I said anything! You think about whoever shit in your oatmeal with that fucked up Yamaha over there, yeah?”

That’s what he thought.

Working at the garage is alright: Kazuichi offered him the job a year after he graduated ‘cos he’d finally inherited the place from his parents and needed people to help do a complete overhaul, something about making it his own and spitting in the face of his shitty dad’s wishes. The pay looked decent and Kaz was good guy once he got to know him (plus it’s not like Mondo had anything else going on) so he’d accepted – but only on the condition that there’d be no chance of his bike mysteriously getting a jetpack drilled to it, or something dumb like that.

Besides, it’s nice to do something helpful with his days now that he’s left the gang in Takemichi’s capable hands.

Wearily, he sidles over to the messed-up bike and squats down so he can check the damage. The Yamaha is bright red and shiny, save for a thick, dented scratch on the front right of the body and some areas where the paint’s been scuffed off. Luckily it looks like a pretty easy fix. Mondo scans the tool rack for something to pop the dent back out with.

“Looks pretty new,” he muses. “Some rich kid leave it in a bad area or somethin’?”

There’s the grating screech of metal on metal, then Kaz grunts from under the car. “Nah, unfortunately. The guy’s sister brought it in. Said he was trying to impress his girlfriend and ended up scraping some passing van, totally shredded his leg up!”

Mondo pauses his inspection of the bike. That’s...

“I asked for her phone so I could get her number but she thought I wanted to see the pictures, man,” the mechanic continues with an audible shiver, “Blood everywhere. That shit was _gross_ ,”

Even looking at the bike starts to make Mondo feel a little sick.

“How- how bad did he hit it,” He asks, pseudo-nonchalant. “Is he okay now?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t look life threatening, so I think he’s fine? Not gonna be riding that thing for a long time though, that’s for sure,”

The relief stops his hands from shaking a little. The light tinge of jealousy remains, and he hates himself for it.

“Who cares. Fucker probably deserved to get taken down a peg,” Mondo says carelessly though his heart’s not in it. Ignores Kaz’s disgruntled protests in favour of picking up a crowbar and levering the dent out so viciously it pops, loud and final even in the noise of the workshop. Eventually, the mechanic reads the room for what it is and shuts up and Mondo’s thankful for it, busy filing off the scratches with single-minded determination, welding together the roughest parts of the metal. When time comes to apply fresh chrome, he does so liberally. He polishes it so hard he can see his own harrowed face, haunted by the familiarity of it all.

A horrible thought dawns upon him then, but... no. Surely, it can’t be. He’s always been hyper-aware of it before, counting down the days like a death sentence – there’s no way he’d forget it completely, because if he did? What kind of shitty brother would that make him?

He’s scared to look but he needs to be sure. Heart rattling, slightly desperate, Mondo goes to check the calendar on his phone.

For a brief moment, it’s like being in front of the truck all over again.

September 23rd.

Today is the day Daiya died.

And this is the first year that Mondo hasn’t remembered.

The rest of the shift slips through his fingers like sand. Suddenly, everything is reminding him of that day and he doesn’t get how the hell he didn’t notice it before. That cologne on the counter? Daiya had used the same brand. The jeering of the rock band that’s started to filter through the radio? His own sneering voice, foolish and eager to prove his worth in the only way he knew how. The hissing of Kazuichi’s blowtorch? Now that’s the hiss of hot exhaust spurting from the engine, the hiss of gasoline leaking onto the road so that Mondo had to haul his brother’s fragile body out of the way in case something caught alight and exploded.

It’s all too real. The jealousy makes sense now, because that kid was lucky to pull a stunt and escape with just a fucked leg. Mondo pulled a stunt and now he’s remembering how it felt to clutch at someone like he could keep the life inside if he just held on hard enough.

The gang had to club together just to scrape enough cash for a proper funeral. Nobody like that owns a black suit; they’d worn their jackets instead.

Mondo doesn’t understand how he finishes a single job after that. He doesn’t remember what he says as he leaves. Kaz looks at him with his sharp eyebrows furrowed in concern but Mondo never told him about it, never had any reason to, so he just pats him lightly on the shoulder and says to take it easy.

When he gets outside, he realises the bike is not fucking happening anymore and he cannot stomach even a short journey in a cab, so he just walks home in a daze instead, fumbling with the front door for five solid minutes because his hands are too cold to grasp the key. The apartment is as empty as he left it. His bowl of porridge is still half-eaten on the kitchen island. Taka would want him to clean it up.

It looks like he’s disappointing two people today.

Mondo catches himself in the bathroom mirror again as he passes by and this time it’s different. Now it’s Daiya’s ear with the grease stain by it, Daiya’s eyes wide and smudged with his liner, Daiya’s dark hair hanging noose-like around his neck, and Mondo’s slapped once more by the reality that he has the weight of his brother’s legacy on his shoulders just by existing – and for what?

The gang is fine without him. He’s dependant on a boyfriend he doesn’t deserve and makes his livelihood from an upperclassman he barely knows. He couldn’t even remember the anniversary of the death he caused and yeah, Mondo’s had it drilled into him that he shouldn’t blame himself for it but who the hell else is there to blame?

More than that, he’s not been this affected by it in years. Guilt is an old, shitty friend. He told everyone he was doing better and apparently he is not – it’s like lying to the gang all over again.

Mondo sheds his coveralls and curls himself into the bedsheets as an afterthought. Sleep comes quick and fitful, and all the while that crack in the ceiling gets wider.

* * *

Taka gets home at six fifty-five. Mondo wakes up as soon as he comes in because everything he does is enthusiastic, and that unfortunately includes shutting doors.

He’s done a total 180 since their school days: a year or two after they graduated he seemed to realise the whole politician gig was a scam, put all his time into teaching kids the power of hard work and effort instead. He’s at one of the more disadvantaged schools in their area – the kind Mondo went to before Hope’s Peak – because he said that if there are kids as good as Mondo there, he wants to be able to encourage them.

That was one of the few times Mondo’s let himself cry. It aches to know that somebody so earnestly believes in him sometimes and it aches how much he loves him in return.

Now, he doesn’t really feel like he deserves it.

Taka is calling his name, clearly expecting him to be waiting in the living room like he usually is; all excited the first time, then curiously, then finally with what sounds like the slightest hints of concern.

Finally, the bedroom door creaks open. The eyes on his back feel hot and uncomfortable, like sunburn.

“Mondo?” Taka asks quietly.

Mondo pretends he’s still sleeping and thanks god that he’s facing away from where light is now spilling onto the bedsheets. Maybe if he pretends hard enough, his boyfriend will go away. Maybe he’ll go find someone who isn’t so weak to talk to, like Chihiro or Leon or even fucking Hagakure. As much as he loves him, there’s no doubt he’ll be gullible enough to buy it. Any second now—

“Mondo, I can tell you’re awake,”

—Shit.

There’s the quiet shuffling of those ridiculous boots approaching, then the mattress sinks down under Taka’s weight. Mondo lies there, completely frozen, when nothing else happens for a minute; he flinches as a hand finally settles on his bicep, despite how gentle it is. The callouses of his thumb are digging into the muscle as he rubs it in slow, calming circles.

“I received a text from Souda earlier,” says the careful voice from behind him. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to read it, but he said he was worried and that you seemed distressed. Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

The effort it takes not to move is beginning to make his whole body tremble. He’s a rubber band about to snap. Eyes are still on him. His own eyes are still Daiya’s.

He got like this before – when the anniversary had passed the first year of Hope’s Peak, he’d completely shut down, unable to eat or speak or leave his dorm because he was so scared that someone would ask him if he was alright and he’d just start crying right then and there. So he knows that question is extended like a lifeline: but Mondo’s too fucking weak to take it, and in a jerky, barely-there movement, he shakes his head.

He almost thinks he’s finally pushed him away when the hand goes.

But before he can even mourn the contact, Taka sighs deeply, a great big woosh of air, and then there’s the clacking of boots being unlaced.

The bed sinks deeper. Taka pulls himself up the mattress until Mondo can feel his warmth barely there against his spine – after a shaky pause, he slides his right arm under his neck and gets the other over his hip, rolls him lightly until the hand is splayed flat over his stomach and he’s lying on his back, Taka’s legs hooking over his own in a full-body cradle.

It always shocks him when he’s held like this. Before Taka, he hadn’t let himself be touched full stop other than when Daiya would do stuff like messing up his hair to piss him off. Even when they’d started dating, he’d expected to be the one doing the holding – he’s bigger and more muscly and tougher looking, and ain’t that the stereotype? But his boyfriend insists on wrapping himself around him like a koala at every possible moment. Usually it makes him flustered.

Now, it’s like that angry, scared, grieving sixteen-year-old inside him has taken over. The tension in his body reaches breaking point and just like that, he’s throwing himself into Taka’s chest, arms gripping tightly around his shoulders and, embarrassingly enough, shaking erratically – unmeasured and raw, into the rumpled fabric of Taka’s shirt.

“I don’t deserve ya,” He snarls wetly, voice crackly from sleep and with no bite whatsoever. “You shouldn’t be lettin’ me just fuckin’ _take advantage_ of ya like this! As if I ain’t some good for nothing delinquent who—“

“ _Mondo_ —“

“—who sits on his ass all day while you’re out there, f-fuckin’ changing kids’ futures! As if I ain’t... as if—” he chokes but the words are stuck, “I weren’t—”

He finally opens his eyes and looks up. Taka is staring at him like he’s grown a second head, the furrow of his brow half-pained, half-furious.

“What on earth are you talking about?” He says slowly.

“I—what?”

“How are you taking advantage of me right now? Did I not engage in contact first?”

Mondo looks away defensively, “W-what are ya trying to say?”

“Then it was my decision to comfort you, yes? And we have already been over how much I value your utilisation of your talents at the garage, so that is not, ahem, ‘sitting on your behind all day’. Do not argue with me on that because I will not tolerate such slander!”

He feels hands grip tighter, and Taka’s hold becomes a little bit dire.

“Mondo,” His voice is quieter, tenderer now, “You’re deflecting. What is this really about?”

A minute passes of opening and closing his mouth around words that have once again lodged themselves in his throat. If he says it out loud, he’s gonna sound pathetic, like he’s making mountains out of molehills. He sniffs. His eyes are stinging.

“I forgot,” is all he can manage in the end.

Taka doesn’t push him – sees how hard it is to say even two shitty words – and just strokes down his head comfortingly, presses a kiss to top of his tangled hair. Mondo decides that he can’t be a fuckin’ coward anymore and he has to tell the truth this time, not like with the gang, not like what he’d rattled off to the authorities. Taka deserves to know.

“Today is the day Daiya died,” He says simply. “An’ I didn’t even realise ‘til I was lookin’ at some poor kid’s fucked-up bike,” He waits for some sort of reaction – anything – but his partner stays as a silent comfort. It’s like he’s waiting for him to be ready at his own speed. And all of a sudden, the words are flowing from him like water. “I-I’m meant to be carryin’ his legacy, yeah? All his hopes and dreams and shit, and I ain’t doing enough. I fuckin’ freaked when I realised. It’s like,” the laugh that comes out is humourless, “It’s like, I woke up last week and I panicked ‘cos I couldn’t remember how he used to do his hair. His fuckin’ hair!”

Taka nods understandingly. “You are afraid you’re forgetting him?”

“I guess. It sounds dumb but I’m... I’m the only family he had left. Everybody's fuckin' expectin' this of me. If I can't even remember him, who the fuck else will? If I can't do one shitty thing for him, t-then...”

They slip into silence again. Mondo doesn’t realise he’s started crying until a hand starts dabbing tears from his cheeks, and even then he’s too drained to be mortified. There’s nothing else to do anyway but wallow in the depressing reality of it. He thinks about going back to sleep, about using Taka’s chest as a pillow.

“Please let me know if I am overstepping the mark,” begins Taka tentatively, voice slightly wobbly because he's a sympathetic crier, “And I do understand how distressing it would be to forget a loved one. Your determination to carry your brother’s spirit forward is inspiring, truly!” He praises, then trails off, tinged with nerves. “However... I am sorry, but the way I see it, you are your own person as well and it is simply unfair to measure everything you do on the wills of other people. I-I am sure your brother was a lovely person, but he would not want you to sacrifice your own happiness just to pursue what might have been his,"

If this conversation was painful before, that hits him like a freight train: hard enough that he feels fragile and cut open and unable to process that fully through his own grief, let alone respond. Taka seems to get it. He’s smaller in build but like this he feels all-encompassing – holding Mondo together as he thinks it over and cries.

Later, as Taka washes the dishes – the plates from the takeout they’d ended up ordering and that poor, poor bowl with the porridge cemented to it – Mondo comes up behind him, tucks his face into his neck and drapes his arms around him in a weary bear hug.

“I’m sorry for dumpin’ all that crap on ya. You’d think I’d be over it by now, huh?”

Taka looks at him strangely. “You experienced a traumatic event, Mondo. In all my extensive research, I can tell you with certainty that you should not be expected to just get over something like that by yourself. Besides, I will always be here to support you if you need it!”

There’s a flash of adoration because Taka probably did actual research into that kind of trauma for him, and then a red flush of hopeful embarrassment at what ‘I will always be here’ implies.

He thinks he’s getting it, though. It still hurts to have forgotten Daiya like that, and yeah, the pressure of Aniki’s memory riding on his shoulders is still heavy. But it’s like Taka says. The life he's got now ain't half bad: maybe his brother would be prouder of him for just ending up happy, rather than if he tortured himself trying to be someone he's not. Maybe he can look in the mirror and pretend those eyes are Daiya’s looking back at him, and he’s saying some crap like _“wow punk, yer doin’ great!”_.

Maybe he can spin it on its stupid head and know that he’ll always have that memory with him: just, it might get a little fuzzier. Like an old picture that gets bleached by the sun. The pain and the grief will be there forever, but it just gets duller. A scar rather than a wound if he’d quit picking at the stitches.

Mondo sighs. There’s nothing more to say now. Absentmindedly, he thinks back to the morning. “By the way, did you know we got a crack in our ceiling?”

“Oh, in the bedroom?” Taka blinks, then nods. “Yes, I noticed,”

“I can cover it up if ya like. There’s some paint around here somewhere,”

Taka considers it for a moment. After a second, he shakes his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think we’re in any danger of a cave-in. We can just leave it be and keep an eye on it, yes? No need to waste time covering something we know is already there.”

Mondo barks out a laugh that surprises them both, presses a tired little kiss to Taka’s cheek. “You know what, yeah. I guess that makes sense,”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thank you for reading!
> 
> Wanted to explore Mondo's trauma a little bit because he's really fun to write and his character is so interesting - I tried to think about how it might've ended up affecting him a little later on in life.
> 
> I shat this out at 3am and it's also unbeta'd so apologies for any funky spelling/grammar :')
> 
> Comments/criticism always welcome!
> 
> Have a good one lads B)


End file.
